


destiny is just the embodiment of the soul's desire to grow

by Charlie_chan16



Series: are you perhaps short of a marble?! [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cursed Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Explicit Sexual Content, Human Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier and Yennefer best friends forever, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Little Shit, M/M, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Viper School (The Witcher), Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, tired yennefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_chan16/pseuds/Charlie_chan16
Summary: Jaskier pines for Geralt, Geralt pines for Jaskier under the influence of a curse, and Yennefer is the unwilling audience to this dumpster fire of a pair.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: are you perhaps short of a marble?! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122026
Comments: 8
Kudos: 134





	destiny is just the embodiment of the soul's desire to grow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lynxrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynxrider/gifts).



> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!
> 
> For Lynx, who has been one of my closest friends during this clusterfuck of a year. Love you my darling! And I do hope you enjoy my first foray into smut (I hope it's not too mediocre XD) - and indeed into writing in the Witcher fandom! I really loved writing this whole thing, I just suddenly clicked with Jaskier's character and ran with it. It is now almost 10k which just shows my impulse control XD (Correction it IS 10K XD). 
> 
> Anyway, I do hope you enjoy this. And Lynx I couldn't have wished for a better friend. Here's to 2021 my love!! 
> 
> Hope you all have a peaceful Christmas/Holidays and stay happy, safe and sane <3

When Jaskier arrived in Rivia he planned to rent a room at an inn for the night in a small unknown town, complete a few odd jobs to gain coin and leave the next day. It was meant to be a stop off on his way to Gorthur Gvaed but it became a lot more than that when he suddenly received a summons from the Viscount of Rivia. 

He’d been quietly enjoying his first drink of the evening when the messenger approached him. His garb was an eyesore amongst the drab colours of the common folk, and his nose wrinkled at the stench of alcohol. Jaskier could see the moment the man almost shat himself when he finally spotted the Witcher. Jaskier was suddenly glad he’d tactfully hid his medallion under his armour as he didn’t want to be gawked at all night. 

“Witcher,” the messenger began loudly, his voice drawing looks from the other patrons and exposing Jaskier’s thin cover, but he continued anyway. “You have been summoned by the generous Lord Viscount of Rivia.” 

“And?” Jaskier asked after taking a swig of ale, pinning the messenger with his dark brown eyes. The man gulped at the intensity of his stare, and the Witcher could see the blood trickling from his cheeks. “Am I meant to do something about it?” 

Inwardly he smirked at his own threatening aura, delighting in watching the man squirm as he desperately tried to match Jaskier’s gaze. 

“He requests that you come to the mansion quickly, he has a job for you,” and with that the messenger practically ran from the inn, dodging patrons on his way out and leaving Jaskier to his ale. 

Jaskier considered his drink for a few more minutes, draining it slowly before signalling the bar keep. He handed back the key to the room with a quiet apology, part of him despairing at the loss of a proper bed and unfazed by the irritated glare he got in return as he made his way to the stables. 

A thick coating of snow now lay upon the ground, crunching beneath his feet as Jaskier untied Xenopeltis - or as Jaskier fondly calls her: Xen. She nickered quietly, pressing her muzzle against his chest in greeting and crunching happily on an apple he’d managed to purchase from the market. He gracefully lifted himself up and onto the saddle, urging her forward with a light tap of his heels once she was finished eating. 

He followed the trail the messenger’s horse left behind, his nose picking up the slight scent of fear and his mouth curled into a smile. As he drew closer to the great keep he grazed the palms of his hands over his holsters, his fingertips gracefully stroking against the handle of his daggers. His keen ears caught the clink of his potion bottles within their saddlebags, the sound calming as Xen stepped through the iron wrought gates and into the courtyard. 

Guards approached him slowly on his arrival, and a shaking stable boy warily plucked Xen’s reins from Jaskier’s hands. He mentally delighted at the squeak of fear he got from the boy when he bared his teeth in a dangerous grin before allowing the guards to lead him into the keep. 

The mansion itself was decorated extravagantly in the province’s colours, and Jaskier found he appreciated the effort they put into it. It was cosier than he was expecting, and he shrugged off his cloak after a few minutes indoors, ignoring the awkward and confused looks he got from the guards. He grinned cheekily at them when they stared for a bit too long, his fangs gleaming in the light of the flickering torches. 

Whereas the corridors of the mansion were tastefully decorated, the main hall was almost gaudy. Jaskier couldn’t stop his lip curling in distaste at how much gold decor there was, and the seats the Viscount and his wife sat on were and eyesore. He suddenly noticed the incredulous glare he was receiving from the Viscount and plastered his most convincing and charming smile on his face, tilting his head in a slight bow. As Serrit said, smile at the bastards and they will bend easily. 

“You do realise you are here on request, Witcher,” the Viscount began in a cold tone, his gaze almost impressive to Jaskier. 

“Yes, of course,” he replied, saccharine sweet. 

“So you realise I can request to throw you in the dungeons? Or abandoned on the Mahakam mountains with nothing but the clothes on your back?” the Viscount continued, and Jaskier had to practically bite his lip to prevent a laugh from escaping. 

It was funny to him that everyone seemed to underestimate him. Just because he was the most unassuming Witcher in looks didn’t mean he hadn’t gone through the training his brothers did. A little cold and isolation wouldn’t do anything to him. 

“Yes, my lord,” Jaskier replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm, but he bowed his head slightly again, watching as the Viscount preened at his ‘submission’. 

“I’ve summoned you here because of a...well a family matter,” the Viscount said, his gaze suddenly becoming shifty. Jaskier was used to these types of jobs where he was either sent out to deal with a rogue naysayer or a culprit of a knocked up daughter. However, this one suddenly turned out to be quite different. 

“Our son upset a well known sorcerer,” the Viscount explained, “and ended up on the wrong end of her spell. We’d like you to break the curse, or kill the witch. Whichever is easiest.” 

Jaskier’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly but that was the only giveaway he expressed of his emotions as he bowed his head once again. “Of course, Lord Viscount. Perhaps, does your son know of this witch’s dwelling?” he asked layering politeness in his tone. 

“He does. And he will accompany you on this endeavour as he is to learn how to deal with the consequences of his actions,” the Viscount replied, twitching his fingers slightly and Jaskier watched a guard leave the room with a nod. “Your job, Witcher, will be the protection of my son and the eradication of this sorcerer. For a payment of ten gold. Is that amenable?” 

A door to the left suddenly opened with a squeak of the rusty hinges, and a man half a head taller than Jaskier stepped out. His white hair was unusual, but it was his honey coloured eyes that caught Jaskier’s attention. The man, obviously the Viscount’s son, turned his gaze to the Witcher and Jaskier had a very hard time shoving the heat that raged through his body deep down into his stomach.

Something primal within him screamed to  _ protecthaveprotectminemineMINE-  _

He cleared his throat quietly, rolling his shoulders and closing his emotions into a box. 

“The curse is an unusual one as he is obligated to only speak the truth. I believe this won’t be a hindrance?” the Viscount asked, and Jaskier shook his head. 

They were sent on their way quickly but not before the Viscount’s wife - who had been mainly silent for most of the encounter - suddenly swept down the steps from her seat and pressed a delicate kiss to her son’s forehead. 

The son didn’t say a word as they made their way to the stables, but Jaskier didn’t mind. He was used to the quiet, and he hummed to himself as he fixed Xen’s bridle. He watched slyly as the son placed a deep brown saddle onto his chestnut mare, lifting himself up and onto the horse’s back with great ease. 

“So, what am I meant to call you?” Jaskier asked as they began their ride. He planned to get them to the closest town at the foot of the mountains before resting, having a slight suspicion of who this witch could be. “Do I say my lord? Or your highness? Ooh, what about your excellency?”

“Geralt,” the son finally growled, and his voice seemed to  _ do  _ something to Jaskier’s stomach and  _ god  _ were his feelings a mess today. “Just call me Geralt.” 

“Alright, Geralt,” Jaskier said, letting his tongue roll over the name slowly, thinking of how it could be said in different ways-- shut  _ up  _ Jaskier! “Mind telling me who this witch of yours is? And in fact, what did you do to annoy her so much for such a pesky curse?”

He could tell it was a touchy subject as Geralt’s jaw clenched, but Jaskier wasn’t concerned with pissing off a rich boy. He mumbled something and Jaskier had to ask him to repeat it, saying that it was the howling wind but he knew what he’d said. His Witcher hearing wasn’t  _ just  _ for monsters and ghoulies. And he loved to watch the rich boy squirm. 

“Yennefer,” Geralt said loudly, glaring at Jaskier when he snorted quietly in laughter. 

“You pissed off Yen? Oh that’s a  _ bad  _ move my friend,” Jaskier commented. “You’re lucky daddy called for a Witcher who’s on her good side then.” He leered at him brightly, his teeth flashing in the weak sunlight as he suddenly urged Xen into a trot. 

Now that he knew where they were going he angled the reins towards the left side path when they came upon a fork in the road. Yennefer was probably still in her summer cottage which would take about two days to get to by horse. However, they would need coin if they were going to make it there seeing as his traveling companion probably had no experience sleeping rough. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked in what was the longest sentence Jaskier had heard from him yet. The Witcher didn’t even glance in his direction as he answered, his tone quiet as they passed under a copse of trees. 

“Heading into the town,” he said. “We can't have you getting a crick in your back on the first night can we, your excellence.” His smirk was cheeky, but Geralt didn’t deign him with an answer, simply humming deeply but quietly. 

It didn’t take them long to get there, tying up the horses once again before heading into one of the many inns that dotted the village. Jaskier was grateful to rest his bones as he sat on a bar stool, tossing money to the bar keep and asking for ale. Geralt didn’t say a word, merely watching the Witcher as he gulped down his drink quickly. 

“We’re only staying here tonight, your highness, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Jaskier told him, smirking at Geralt’s uncomfortable look. “Besides you might find you’ll  _ like  _ hanging around the common folk.”

“I already do,” Geralt suddenly said, and Jaskier was intrigued by the way he clenched his jaw tightly, as if he wasn’t meant to say that at all. 

“What was that?” he asked cheekily, watching as the noble fought with his own words. Jaskier was going to have to commend Yennefer for her clever magic when they eventually got there. “Well if you already feel comfortable amongst your own people, I don’t suppose you’d mind if I took a small job, hm?” 

He stood as if to make for the doorway before he was stopped by Geralt’s - surprisingly - strong grip. His amber eyes had a sheen of what looked to be desperation but Geralt’s tone was level and low. 

“Don’t leave me  _ here _ ,” he almost growled, and Jaskier’s brow furrowed at his tone. “Take me with you.” 

“A monster hunt is no place for a noble,” Jaskier told him, completely serious in his reasoning as he’d seen a request for the slaying of some ghouls that’d appealed to him and his fangs but would be incredibly dangerous for someone with no combat experience. He halted at Geralt’s gaze and suddenly  _ knew  _ he’d follow even if Jaskier left him behind. He hissed quietly, running his hands through his hair before relenting. “Fine. Gives you a chance to use that ridiculous sword you wield. But if things get hairy, you  _ run,  _ got it?” 

The bounty was a half and hour ride away from the town, and it seemed that the snowfall had finally abated and left the two of them with a clear moonlit night. Jaskier could feel himself settling with the rush that came from a hunt, his fingers itching for his potions and blades and his nose flaring widely to pick up every scent that surrounded them. 

He smelt the dead ones way before they saw them, his nose wrinkling slightly at the bitter scent of rotting flesh and the copper of dried blood. However he didn’t dare say a word to Geralt, and he watched with a sadistic glee as the noble caught his first scent. His cheeks paled suddenly, and Jaskier fought back the quirk of his lips as his mare suddenly grew restless. 

Jaskier pulled Xen to a stop, lightly landing on his feet in the wet grass and grabbing for two potions from his bag. He gulped one of them down quickly, tucking the other into a small pouch at his side. The surrounding forest was deadly silent as he crept forward, keeping low to the ground as he slipped his fangs from their sheaths. 

The rough leather of their pommels calmed him, and he angled them so that the moon reflected on their silver blades in the darkness. Something rustled off to his left and he froze, his ink black gaze flickering in that direction and his nose taking in a deep breath. 

He held perfectly still, his mouth quirking in a sly smile as he picked out the ten ghoulies that had surrounded him. He didn’t make a sound, his keen hearing picking up the rustling of leaves under the monster’s feet. He was suddenly reminded of a line one of his brother’s used to say to him during training, and he smirked as he struck out like a snake, his hands loosely gripping the handle of his daggers. 

He made quick work of the ghouls, the silver blades slicing through rotting skin in one foul swoop. Flecks of blood splattered his cheeks and armour and his knives became covered in the red liquid but Jaskier paid it no mind, his thoughts completely focussed on the battle in front of him. 

He came back to himself abruptly, surrounded by undead corpses and he glanced around at his work with a sly smile. He hummed quietly as he began the arduous task of burying the bodies, the potion he’d downed earlier trickling out of his bloodstream. He reached for the other one he’d placed in his pouch, drinking it down with a relieved sigh. He could practically feel his skin buzzing as his body took in the potion, rejuvenating his energy levels quickly. 

“It’s safe now,” he called out, wiping his hands on his trousers once he’d hauled the last ghoul into the grave with a dusting of his hands. “And you didn’t even need to unsheath that lumoxing blade of yours, your highness.” And he bowed at the waist as Geralt led the horses over to Jaskier. 

“I didn’t think you’d need help,” Geralt replied, and Jaskier couldn’t help it as his head snapped up in the noble’s direction. In the dark he couldn’t see Geralt’s face, but he noticed how his shoulders suddenly raised in tension, and Jaskier smirked at the curse working its magic. He laughed to himself at his own joke as he hoisted himself up onto Xen’s back, moving her forward with a nudge of his heels. 

Jaskier had forgotten how nice it was to wake up in a proper comfortable bed. He’d also forgotten how much he snores in his sleep, and how annoying that was to his bedmates. So he opened his eyes to Geralt’s irate gaze to which he smiled cheekily. Jaskier knew he was a bad roommate, and he didn’t really care all that much. 

Geralt urged Jaskier through his morning ablutions, practically dragging him from the room and downstairs for a quick breakfast. And Jaskier meant quickly, he only had the chance to grab a few rolls of bread before Geralt pulled him towards the stable once again. 

“Okay, where’s the fucking fire?” he exclaimed, his irritation finally bubbling over. “I didn’t even get to have a bath and I can  _ still  _ feel ghoul guts under my fingernails.” He dropped Xen’s reins to cross his arms against his chest petulantly, but he got no reply from Geralt as he rode ahead. 

“Are you  _ that  _ desperate to be rid of a stupid curse?” Jaskier called up to the noble. 

“Yes,” Geralt finally replied and Jaskier chose to ignore his irritated tone. 

“But why? And why the  _ fuck  _ did you annoy Yennefer in the first place? Because it’s not very hard to get her that angry but it is difficult to get her to use her magic,” Jaskier asked irritatedly, picking at the monster guts under his nails nonchalantly. 

“Because I told her I was gay, alright?” Geralt suddenly exclaimed, the words sounding as if they were wrenched from behind his teeth. 

Jaskier froze in the saddle, staring at the noble’s back in surprise and considering him in a completely different light. “Oh…and I guess you and her were having relations not of the friendly kind,” he commented, watching as Geralt nodded his head. The Witcher left it there, wary of turning over any other big secrets that shouldn’t be poked at. 

But part of Geralt’s statement didn’t exactly make sense. Yennefer knew about Jaskier, in fact she gossiped about the men in the village five minutes away from the cottage with him whenever he visited. So he couldn’t understand  _ why  _ she’d curse a man with the same sexual preference as him. But he supposed that things would reveal themselves with time, and he’d have to be patient. 

The next village over would be their last stop as Jaskier could tell Geralt needed a break. That didn’t stop the stubborn noble from trying to get them to move along, but the Witcher wasn’t having it. Yennefer’s cottage was at least another half a day's ride away, and Jaskier would be damned if he didn’t have a bath before going to see her. That and he wanted one more night on a real bed before he was forced to sleep rough once again. 

He spent the evening at the bar, tucking away two mugs of ale succinctly. He sat alone as Geralt had wanted some time to himself in the room, and Jaskier couldn’t help but think what that meant. He himself had quite a few gentlemen come up to him with the offer of a warm bed but he declined, explaining that he needed to keep a clear head. It was true but he couldn’t help but watch them walk away with a forlorn look. 

When he made his way back to the room it was to the sound of quiet snoring, and he inched his way inside as silent as a cat, slipping his boots to the floor as he clambered under his own bed clothes. He sniffed the air suddenly, something familiar tickling his nose and he pushed himself upright to glance around the room. His eye caught on a pile of dirty sheets in the corner, and an open jar on Geralt’s beside table. He chuckled inwardly, rolling over to bury his nose in his blanket to block out the cloying scent that wafted through the room. He didn’t say a word about it the next morning. 

They were getting very close to the cottage now. Jaskier could tell because magic buzzed within his veins as they passed through Yennfer’s protective runes. He was surprised she hadn’t shown herself yet, his dark eyes staying alert as Xen plodded down the worn pathway through the trees. He knew Yennefer could tell he was here, as she said his Witcher scent was strong enough for any monster or sorcerer to smell it three miles away. He never did know why she considered that a bad thing, seeing as it meant he was generally left alone while he travelled. 

Geralt hadn’t spoken a word all morning, and Jaskier found himself humming to keep the silence at bay. It earned him a few irritated glances from the noble and the Witcher had to stop himself short from doing something childish.

Yennefer’s cottage came into view that afternoon, the sun glancing off the glass of the windows. Jaskier climbed down from Xen’s back gracefully, heaving a sigh of relief as he stretched his legs. The building itself was charmed to look run down and dilapidated, but the inside was lush and cosy. Jaskier couldn’t wait to sleep on Yen’s gorgeous spare bed once again. 

He led the way into the stable, turning back to see Geralt staring at the cottage with slight trepidation and fear. Jaksier could see how his honey coloured eyes continuously darted towards the front door, as if the sorcerer would come barging out and spell him into a frog immediately. However, Yennefer hadn’t emerged yet so Jaskier had to believe she was either in her study or possibly in the bath. A bath sounded devine to Jaskier at that moment, and he quickly pulled Xen’s tack and saddle off and placed them in the corner. 

Jaskier knocked out a merry pattern into the wood of the door, a cheerful grin on his face as he bounced on the balls of his feet. He knocked again when there was no answer, ignoring Geralt’s hiss at him to leave it alone. The noble had taken on a concerned look, eyes darting between the two windows that faced them to spy any movement within the house. 

Jaskier suddenly thumped against the wood of the door harshly, startling Geralt as he shouted into the wood. “Yen! I know you’re in there you old bat,” he exclaimed, shoving Geralt’s hand off his shoulder when he tried to wrestle him away. “Stop inspecting yourself in the mirror and open the fucking door!” 

It swung open harshly, and Yennefer greeted the two of them with a stern look and crossed arms, to which Jaskier beamed sunnily. “Like you’re one to talk Jas, you spend hours finagling your hair when you’re not pulling monster guts from under your fingernails,” she said after a few tense silent seconds. 

“Ah yes, but that is because I  _ need  _ to, I’m more likely to get jobs if I look good than if I stink of blood and drip monster guts on the floor,” Jaskier retorted. “You on the other hand only have your visitors that come to call and you don’t need to worry about how you look because it would be messed up anyway.” 

Yennefer rolled her eyes good naturedly, but Jaskier could tell the second she spotted Geralt. Her purple irises turned cold, and her jaw tightened. Jaskier shivered as the magic seemed to collect around her, the atmosphere suddenly crackling with energy. 

“Jaskier, what is  _ he  _ doing here? I hardly thought you two would ever meet, I don’t mix pleasure with work,” she practically snarled, and Jaskier got between the two of them swiftly, one hand held up towards Yennefer and the other drifting to one of his knives. 

“Yen, there is no need to get angry, he is only here to have a curse broken,” Jaskier told her slowly and carefully. “Which, by the way, we’re going to have a little chat about, you and me, but for now, can you please remove your spell.” 

Yennefer growled loudly and Jaskier could sense when Geralt unsheathed that large weapon of his. “There’s no reason to get violent you two. Geralt put that  _ down, _ ” Jaskier exclaimed, laying his free hand against Geralt’s wrist and pushing it down till the tip of the blade was glancing the mud on the ground. 

“He deserved what he got from me for lying,” Yennefer snarled, her hair whipping about from her magic. “He should be glad I didn’t do anything worse like remove his ability of speech.” 

“I didn’t know at the time,” Geralt growled back, taking a cautious step forward against Jaskier’s grip. 

“Alright I think this would be a good time to stop this posturing and head inside to talk about this,” Jaskier reasoned, hand now pressing against Geralt’s chest. “Doing this outside is doing no one any good.” 

“I  _ loved  _ you,” Yennefer suddenly exclaimed, and Jaskier’s head snapped in her direction and something in his cold, slow beating heart twinged at the tears that ran down her cheeks. “I loved you and you just leave me after telling me you were gay. You  _ lied to me _ .” 

Jaskier turned his head to meet Geralt’s eyes, carefully keeping his own expression impassive. Yennefer didn’t wait for an answer, instead storming back into her cottage. She didn’t slam the door though, and Jaskier knew that was an invite for him to go inside. 

“Right, uh, well. You stay here, and I’ll be back out in a bit,” he told Geralt, slightly unsure about how to handle the current situation and his mind only concentrating on the hurt he’d seen in his best friend’s eyes. 

Yennefer’s cottage hadn’t changed since the last time Jaskier was there. His nose still tingled at the strong scent of the potions bubbling in the corner of her kitchen. He ducked the collection of herbs that hung from the ceiling, the movement muscle memory at this point and the plants reminding him he’d have to contact Triss soon. He missed that girl. 

The cottage held a cosy atmosphere, and Jaskier glanced his cold fingers close to the crackling fire to draw some warmth back into his skin. He always thought that the cottage was the definition of who Yennefer was under that aloof and haughty outer skin. She’d always roll her eyes fondly at him when he’d say as much, but she never denied him outright. 

He settled next to Yennefer who sat with her back hunched at her kitchen table, fiddling with a wickedly sharp knife that looked incredibly familiar to Jaskier. 

“You do realise that’s one of mine, right? I’d been wondering where that’d gotten to actually,” he commented, placing his forearms on the table top. 

“Yes well, it isn’t my fault you keep losing them, finders keepers and all that jazz,” she replied, her voice thick and cheeks wet with tears. She twirled the knife on its point, the blade flashing in the light of the fire. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jaskier asked quietly, dropping the mask he always wore over himself. He eased his hand over slowly and gently, displaying his movements clearly so as not to startle her. He interweaved their fingers together.

“Because you would’ve killed him on the spot. And I don’t have the time or the patience to clean up that mess,” she replied with a sniff. 

“I don’t think it’d be messy. Just a quick slit of the throat in the dead of night and the job is done,” Jaskier said cheerily, smile turning wide and exposing his sharpened incisors. 

Yennefer levelled him with an unimpressed look. “It would be a mess because you are incapable of pulling off a job without some sort of flourish. You would’ve fucked him first before killing him,” she said, and Jaskier began to protest before realising she was correct. 

“Offer is still there though,” he said slyly, his gaze turned towards one of the windows where he had a clear view of an uncomfortable Geralt standing outside in the cold. 

Yennefer slapped the back of his head, causing him to yelp in pain. Although it wasn’t the worst thing she’d done to him he pouted in indignation anyway. “This is abuse, you know,” he commented. “I’m sure I could get Triss here to tell you off.” 

“Oh shut up, you little shit,” she replied fondly, tightening her hold on his fingers incrementally. Jaskier suddenly found himself pulled forward in a tight hug, his head falling easily on Yennerfer’s shoulder. He sighed quietly, leaning into her weight before pulling back to look her in the eye. 

“You do realise our resident noble is freezing his balls off out there?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Let him freeze, I don’t care,” Yennefer grumbled. 

“Yes you will care if he dies and we get an irate Viscount on our asses. Now, can I let him in?” Jaskier asked, his tone seeped in sass as Yennefer rolled her eyes at him again. 

“Fine,” she grumbled and Jaskier beckoned Geralt inside with a flourish of his hand. He found himself in between the two of them, watching as they stared at each other in resentment. 

“It’ll be very boring if I’m the only one talking this evening.” Jaskier brokered. “Can someone else speak?” 

“I’m not talking to  _ him  _ and if I recall that little spell won’t let him speak anything but the truth,” Yennefer replied, her tone almost cutting as her bright violet eyes glared into Geralt’s honey coloured gaze. 

“I regret taking this job,” Jaskier said quietly, ducking the projectile thrown at his head by Yennefer. 

It took a long time to convince Yennefer to let Geralt stay. It took even longer to get her to let him stay in one of the guest rooms. Jaskier was just short of offering his own room that Yennefer usually set aside for him before she finally yielded. She still took any chance she could to level the nobel with a glare that would send any weaker willed man straight into hell. 

“Come  _ on  _ Yen,” Jaskier complained that evening, stretched out over the wood of the table and his fingers reaching to grab for her arm. “What’ll it take for you to take the curse back?” 

“That’s never going to work,” Geralt suddenly said, not sounding as strained as he usually did which meant he wanted them to hear that. It also meant he had two hard looks aimed at his head within seconds but he didn’t even flinch. 

“Or! I know! Give me a job to do and you could brew a remedy for our little friend here and he’ll be on his way!” Jaskier exclaimed, sitting up excitedly and looking at his best friend with an almost earnest look. “It can be anything, even dealing with those pesky vermin that toe the line of your territory.” 

Jaskier was almost begging at this stage, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it as it was the only way he knew of that could get through to Yennefer. He could see her deep violet eyes cutting him an exasperated gaze from where she sat. But it seemed he’d been able to either get through to her, or he’d irritated her enough to get her moving. 

“Alright,  _ fine _ ,” she snapped, rolling her eyes fondly at the Witcher as he scrambled around the table and gathered her into his arms tightly. She sometimes forgot he  _ had  _ been turned into a Witcher but it was when he hugged her as he was now that she noticed his impressive strength. She let herself relax into his grip for a few seconds, a quiet sigh blowing through her nose until she pushed herself back. 

“So, what’ll it be? Cleaning up your travesty of an attic? Dealing with an irritating suitor who won’t leave you alone? Ooh! What about a potion gone wrong that had turned a man into a monster and we have to cure him?” Jaskier asked, almost bouncing with excitement.

From behind him, Yennefer could see the slightly confused yet fond look Geralt exuded, and something within her chest flickered. She’d have to have a few words with him if he even thought about getting with her Jaskier, she’d make sure of it. 

“None of those I’m afraid,” Yennefer said, rounding her desk and tugging a contract free from one of her many drawers. She handed it to Jaskier with a flourish and watched as his expression dimmed. 

“Really?” he asked, aiming a hurt look at the sorcerer and Yennefer shrugged. “You  _ know  _ how much I hate dealing with these Yen.” 

“What is it?” Geralt asked, looking over Jaskier’s shoulder to get a look at the contract. 

“A pair of wyverns who don’t exactly understand the meaning of leaving have been destroying my greenhouse that holds all of my potion ingredients. If you want that remedy you will deal with these beasties and bring back their claws for me,” Yennefer explained, smothering the smirk that threatened to inch its way towards her mouth at Jaskier’s complaints. 

Geralt furrowed his brow in confusion at Jaskier’s annoyance but didn’t question it as the Witcher dragged him out of the cottage. Jaskier turned at the front door to bid Yennefer a farewell with a rude gesture of his hands. She flicked her fingers, magic swirling around them and sent the Witcher stumbling out the door with a yelp as she laughed quietly. 

Jaskier was glad to be on Xen’s back again, the leather of her reins familiar and comforting in his hands. He glanced behind him to see Geralt following on his own mount, a chestnut mare that Jaskier had yet to know the name of. He found honey coloured eyes suddenly boring into his head as the noble stared at him, the silence that surrounded them almost suffocating. 

“See something you like?” Jaskier suddenly said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He could feel something within his chest wither at himself but he didn’t allow his face to betray it, keeping his brown eyes on Geralt’s person. 

Geralt turned his head away suddenly, and Jaskier didn’t catch the incoherent answer as Xen suddenly tossed her head back with a nicker. Jaskier patted her neck gently, knowing she must’ve picked up on the wyverns scent and was becoming nervous. 

“So, what’s the plan after you’re released from this curse?” Jaskier asked curiously. “Any beautiful princes waiting at your beck and call when you return?” 

“No,” Geralt replied in his deep timber. 

“Well, what  _ do  _ you want to do once this mess is resolved,” Jaskier broached. 

“Fuck off,” Geralt told him suddenly, and through the lance of hurt Jaskier felt in his chest he spotted the other’s clenched jaw. 

“No need to be so snippy about it,” Jaskier said with a sniff. 

He could see Geralt’s shoulders inching towards his ears, his knuckles slowly turning white with the pressure he was placing on his horse’s reins but he didn’t comment as they continued through the trees. It was obvious the noble was trying to battle through something in his own mind and thought it best to leave him to it.

“You’d think Yen would’ve put her greenhouse closer to the cottage,” Jaskier suddenly observed after about half an hour of silence. “I mean, sure, she has teleportation magic but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have put it within walking distance in case she suddenly became fatigued or something. It certainly would’ve eliminated this small proble--” 

He suddenly felt Geralt’s hand gripping the lapel of his shirt and he realised he hadn’t seen the noble riding up next to him until he was dragged towards the other’s chest. He squawked loudly, free hand flailing to regain his balance but found his attention taken by the slightly chapped lips claiming his own. 

His brain took a few moments to consider his options: either push against Geralt's shoulder and possibly send himself falling to the ground, or just stay where he was. It seemed that his decision was made though as Geralt suddenly slipped his tongue between Jaskier’s lips, sending a small moan through his chest and the Witcher’s hand to clutch the cloth of the noble’s shirt. It suddenly felt like a challenge, as if the two of them were battling to be the last to pull away and it ignited something fiery in Jaskier’s stomach. 

He knew his pupils were probably blown wide as they finally pulled back, and Geralt’s were the same, his lips bright red and sensitive as he gently eased the Witcher back into his saddle. Jaskier could feel his heart speeding up slightly and his breath almost shuddering as it escaped into the air. 

“Wow,” Jaskier breathed, the forest suddenly growing silent as he lifted his fingers to graze against his lips but Geralt didn’t say a word, urging his horse along with a light tap of his heels. The Witcher scrambled after him, and it wasn’t mentioned again as they continued towards their destination. However, it didn’t stop Jaskier’s brain from replaying the moment over and over until he felt as if Geralt’s lips were on his once again. 

As Yennefer said the wyverns were found by her greenhouse, both slightly taller than Geralt and with their heads stuck in the bed of peonies Jaskier knew she used for her more intimate spells. Geralt grabbed hold of Jaskier’s arm suddenly, halting him in place before the Witcher could barrel in. 

“What?” Jaskier hissed, his eyes already black with the potion he’d taken. He grinned ferally at Geralt’s flinch. He always took some amount of pride in how he was able to frighten even the toughest of men with his eyes but he watched with a pout as the noble shook it off easily. 

“If we just charge in they’ll run off and we won’t be able to deal with them,” he explained, his gaze taking in the feasting wyverns. 

“Alright then, what’s  _ your  _ fantastic, amazing plan that can get rid of these pests without blatantly sticking them with swords then,” Jaskier replied, keeping his voice low and his fangs in a loose grip. 

He definitely did not shiver with sudden want when Geralt turned his intense gaze to him. But he watched in slight astonishment as the other shushed him with a finger pressed to his lips, the noble standing and sneaking quietly into the darkness of the trees. Jaskier didn’t dare call after him, very aware of the beasties rummaging through the plants and vegetation that surrounded the entrance of the greenhouse. 

It was silent for a few minutes, and Jaskier craned his neck carefully, keeping an eye out for a Geralt shaped shadow. He placed his foot in the wrong place however, the branch under his heel cracking loudly and drawing the attention of the wyverns. The two of them prowled forward, growls rumbling low in their chests. His heart thundered in his chest as he readjusted his position, prepping to lunge at the beast when they drew close. 

He didn’t get to however and he could help the pang of disappointment as one suddenly stumbled, its legs giving out from underneath them with a cry. Geralt twirled his silver blade, arcs of blood splattering around him and the second wyvern hissed at him, pacing away from Jaskier. 

The Witcher stepped forward, deftly slitting the throat of the other monster and wiping his blade on the grass. He then watched as the noble took down his opponent with the grace that came from years of training. Jaskier couldn’t help the little part of his brain that hummed in appreciation, his pitch black eyes taking in every inch of rippling muscle. 

“Well, that went well,” he commented once Geralt was finished. “But you could’ve  _ told me  _ that was your plan you know.” 

Geralt didn’t reply, at least not with words. His flippant and nonplussed hum echoed through the opening and Jaskier rolled his eyes. He sometimes questioned whether the noble’s lack of spoken communication was even because of the curse or whether it was just a habit. 

“Come on then, sooner we get back the sooner you can head on your way,” Jaskier grouched, shoving the disappointment that reared its head down into his chest with a determined push. He didn’t catch the longing gaze that was aimed at his back as he walked away. 

Yennefer was pleasantly surprised when the two of them stepped through the door of the cottage. Jaskier proudly presented her with one of the wyverns fangs, his eyes leeching of the black colour slowly and his cheeks slowly gaining colour. Although the Witcher was entirely oblivious, Yennefer noticed the looks Geralt was giving Jaskier. 

She spent the rest of that afternoon and most of the evening brewing the remedy, Geralt trudging up the stairs to the spare room for some sleep at around midnight so that it just left the two of them alone. Jaskier took to slumping over the armchair that stood next to the fire, his legs stretched out over one armrest and his head leant against the other. He seemed perfectly capable at holding a conversation in that position, telling Yennefer how he spent the winter at home. 

She knew of the Viper’s schools hideout, she’d spent a season there herself when Jaskier had needed aid getting there after a bad run in with a kikimore. Yennefer found herself relaxing into the familiar movements of her brewing, Jaskier’s melodious voice filling the cottage with chatter and the atmosphere turning cosy and quiet. 

The Witcher suddenly fell silent, his brown eyes darting towards the staircase with a longing look. Yennefer had noticed the tense atmosphere that had permeated between the two of them and she knew that Jaskier only used that look when he was mooning over his new infatuation. 

“He made a move didn’t he?” she asked, and Jaskier huffed out a sigh before nodding. “And why is it that you’ve stayed with me down here instead of going up?” 

Jaskier shrugged, turning his gaze towards the lukewarm cup he held in his hands. “There’s probably a reason why he came to you all these months. It might’ve been pressure from his parents to find a woman, or even just fear of what he could be. But I don’t want to...I don’t want to  _ break  _ the walls that I’ve built myself. I don’t want to go to him only to be disappointed.” 

Yennefer scoffed suddenly, the sound not as harsh as it would be but it drew Jaskier’s eyes anyway. “You never know, he might welcome you with open arms and the two of you can run happily into the sunset together. But you’re not going to find out if you stay down here with me sitting in your own misery.” 

It seemed to be the right thing to say as Jaskier suddenly finished off his drink with one gulp, making his way over to Yennefer and gathering her into his arms for a tight hug. 

The stairs creaked beneath his feet as he made his way up, his eyes adjusting to the dim of the corridor. Geralt sat on the edge of the bed in the room Yennefer had begrudgingly given to him, his bright eyes immediately locking onto Jaskier’s deep brown ones as the door clicked shut. 

A heavy silence hung between them, the sudden tension so thick Jaskier felt as if he could cut it with his knives. His brain suddenly drew back to Geralt’s lips on his and the burning heat he’d felt in his sternum. He pushed it aside for now as he took a seat next to the noble. 

“Yennefer will have the remedy for tomorrow,” Jaskier told him, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t even know how to broach the weight that was pressing down on his chest, the urge to draw Geralt towards him and claim every inch of skin. 

“Thank you,” Geralt suddenly said, and Jaskier noticed how it didn’t sound as if the words were ripped from between his teeth. There was something sincere in his gaze when Jaskier glanced up from his hands, surprise furrowing his brows in confusion. “You were charged to help me by my father, but you haven’t treated me as my title would have you.” 

Jaskier laughed, tilting his head back slightly. “I don’t think status matters out here. We’re what we want ourselves to be,” he said. “That and I didn’t want to have to tack on a title to the end of every sentence.” 

Geralt chuckled quietly, and something in Jaskier’s chest fluttered at the sound.

“I guess you have to go back to your duties after tomorrow though,” Jaskier commented and something pulled in his chest at the wince of hurt that flickered across Geralt’s face. 

“Yes,” Geralt murmured and he suddenly jolted his head up, locking gazes with the Witcher. Jaskier felt captured by the burning amber of Geralt’s eyes, and he swallowed quietly, the tension getting thicker as the two of them stared at each other. “But I still have tonight.” 

The words were said oh so quietly Jaskier doubted even he would be able to hear them from a few meters away, but something in his chest jumped as Geralt suddenly, gently, placed his hand on the back of his neck, drawing him into a kiss that was so intense it almost burned like fire on his lips. 

This time however, he pushed back against Geralt’s shoulders, separating the two of them quickly. 

“Wait,” he said, his tone suddenly desperate and hushed. “I won’t...I  _ can’t  _ do this if it’s going to be a one night thing. You need to decide what’s more important because I am  _ not  _ going to be at someone's beck and call.” And the memory of a head of red hair turning from him flickered in his mind, the sight painful to him and he shook his head to be rid of it. 

He seemed to give Geralt pause though, and it looked as if the noble was seriously considering it, his brow slightly furrowed and his lips pulled in a tight line. He turned his gaze towards Jaskier though, and the defiance in those amber pools sent heat racing towards the Witcher’s gut. 

“I want to stay with you,” Geralt told him, his tone utterly genuine, the words relaxed, and once again Jaskier could tell it wasn’t the curse talking as his tone was gentle. The noble suddenly caressed the back of Jaskier’s head, his fingers carding through his hair. Jaskier found he couldn’t break eye contact as the two of them inched towards each other, their knees pressing against each other as their lips finally connected again. 

Jaskier suddenly felt swept up in the heat of the kiss, his jaw growing lax when Geralt’s tongue swiped at his bottom lip asking for entrance. It felt intoxicating, as if he couldn’t let Geralt pull back for fear of breaking the kiss, the connection that built between them. He slowly pushed up the other’s shirt slowly, letting his fingertips caress the warm skin underneath. 

Breathlessly Geralt pulled back, his eyebrows furrowed in askance. “Here?” he asked, his low tone sending a shiver through Jaskier’s spine. “What about Yennefer?” 

“She won’t care. And I think she’s hiding out in the basement,” Jaskier replied as he pulled his undershirt up and over his head, exposing his torso to the cold air. Geralt’s eyes suddenly widened at the sight, his hand tracing over the many white scars that littered Jaskier’s skin. The Witcher was used to his bedfellows being surprised by his marks, and he braced himself for the inevitable curiosity. But Geralt didn’t say a word, only tracing lightly over them. 

Jaskier couldn’t help how his heart suddenly ached at the tenderness Geralt was displaying, and a small bit of his mind fretted at the thought of his emotions escaping from his control and him somehow  _ hurting  _ Geralt with their intensity, but it was suddenly swiped away as Geralt tugged his own clothes off his body. 

Jaskier could practically feel his mouth watering at the sight of Geralt’s rippling back muscles and impressive shoulders, a steady heat building in his sternum and lower gut. He could feel the pressure building in his trousers. 

“How do you want to do this?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier suddenly realised the other hadn’t done anything like this before.

_ Of course he hasn’t,  _ Jaskier reprimanded himself,  _ he’s repressed that side of himself for years probably.  _

“Well, I suppose that depends,” Jaskier said as he stood with all the grace he could muster, wandering over to the chest of drawers where he  _ knew  _ Yennefer kept a spare stash just in case. He pulled one drawer open, brandishing the small glass jar that glinted in the candlelight. 

“Top? Or bottom?” he asked nonchalantly, watching with barely concealed glee as the noble swallowed harshly. “Personally I prefer bottom, but we don’t have to go that far if you don’t want to?” 

“No!” Geralt suddenly exclaimed, and Jaskier raised his eyebrow. “I...I would like to. Go that far, I mean.” 

Jaskier suddenly remembered that the other was still under Yennefer’s curse until the morning and he smirked as he stalked towards him. “Oh? Well then, I’ll just have to take good care of you, won’t I?” he said with a cunning smile. “Let you fuck me until I see stars and you’re practically howling with want. Or maybe I’ll bring you to the precipice and let you hang there, able to see what’s at the bottom but not allowing you to reach it?” 

He watched as Geralt’s pupils grew wider at his words, and Jaskier gently eased his hand to palm at the other’s dick through his trousers. Geralt’s hips bucked gently, and Jaskier placed the lube on the bedsheets before gripping Geralt’s side with his free hand, practically pinning him to the bed. 

“Oh, you like that idea?” he purred, leaning forward so that his hot breath grazed against Geralt’s earlobe. He could feel the other shiver underneath his hands, his dick becoming harder under Jaskier warm palm. “You like the thought of me bringing you that far? Leaving you without satisfaction until you’re inside me?” 

Geralt suddenly growled, the sound rumbling in his chest and Jaskier laughed quietly, his own length finally hardening in his trousers. He could feel the cloth under his hand becoming wet with pre-come but he didn’t let up the small bit of pressure he had against it, only moving his wrist ever so slightly so that the fabric created some friction. 

“J-Jaskier,” Geralt practically moaned, the honey in his eyes almost non-existent his pupils were blown so wide.

“You’re gonna come just from my words? Oh love, do I have that much effect on you?” Jaskier asked, suddenly stepping back from the other and drawing out a strained whine from between Geralt’s teeth when the pressure was lifted. 

“Please,” the noble said, his tone shaky as his back suddenly flopped onto the bed sheets, his trousers tenting. “W-Want you.” 

A triumphant grin stretched Jaskier’s mouth and he suddenly fell gracefully to his knees, the wooden floorboards creaking underneath him. “I’m so glad you do, love. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to have my way with you first before you can.” 

He eased his fingers slowly to the ties of Geralt’s trousers, pulling them loose with efficient movements and tugging them down. He let the teasing drag of the fabric against the nobel’s skin become almost torture, and he could hear the other gasping with want. However, when Jaskier glanced up he didn’t see the other going for his length, instead he’d reached his hands up to grip the fabric of the bedsheets, his jaw tense as another growl inched out of his chest. 

“Now we won’t be having any of that,” Jaskier suddenly said, crawling forward and letting the line of his body draw up the other’s, pressing his crotch against Geralt’s, allowing himself to enjoy the tantalising friction as he eased the other’s hands free. 

With one hand Jaskier reached for the lube, his nimble fingers opening it and tossing the cap to the floor. He dipped his fingers into the gooey texture, lathering his other hand and making it warm enough before inching his way towards Geralt’s dick. He watched in joy as the other tossed his head back with a debauched moan, his mouth slack as Jaskier ran his hand up the shaft, his fingers making a tight circle around the head before sweeping back down towards Geralt’s balls. 

He let himself do this a few times, his own trousers becoming wet with pre-come as he watched Geralt’s hips shake underneath him. “Gonna make you feel so good love,” he breathed, his own heart picking up the pace as Geralt groaned. “So, so good you won’t be able to forget it.” Jaskier captured Geralt’s lips again, letting their tongues tangle for a few seconds before pulling away. 

Once Geralt’s dick was prepped, the tip almost weeping with pre-come, Jaskier pulled his hand away and Geralt whined again, his expression almost desperate. 

“Don’t worry love, I’m coming back,” Jaskier reassured, tugging at the ties of his own trousers but not letting them drop as he got down to his knees. 

He eased himself forward, pecking his lips against Geralt’s thighs and causing the other to shudder. Jaskier slowly made his way down towards the tip of Geralt’s length before pressing his lips against the head and smiling inwardly at the sudden gasp that escaped the other’s lungs. 

He teased it slowly, lapping at the pre-come and slit with tiny movements and letting his lips drag against the skin. He could hear Geralt moaning from where he lay and Jaskier suddenly took the length in his mouth. Geralt growled again, the sound louder and heavy with want. Jaskier hummed appreciatively knowing the sensation his mouth was creating was driving the noble mad. He reached one hand up to clutch his hips, pinning him to the bed again as the other came up to caress his balls as Jaskier finally made his move. 

He bobbed his head slowly, allowing Geralt to experience the full drag of his tongue against his dick. He could feel himself twitch but he turned his attention back to Geralt. The lube was tasteless - thank god - and Jaskier took the whole thing, letting the head hit the back of his throat. Geralt suddenly let out a shout, his hands coming up to grab hold of Jaskier’s hair tightly. 

“J-Jas,” Geralt suddenly gasped, “I-I’m gonna come.” 

Jaskier pulled back at those words, taking his hands and tongue away much to the other’s behest. Geralt whimpered again, and that sound went straight to Jaskier’s own length and he suddenly groaned quietly, drawing the others attention. 

Geralt lifted his head from the bedsheets, his eyes latching onto Jaskier’s desire filled ones, drifting over his shivering form to land on the tent in his trousers. “Come here,” he said quietly, his deep voice sending another shudder through Jaskier’s body. 

“Need to be prepped, love,” Jaskier managed to get out, almost laughing at the confused look he got. “Do you want to do it? Or shall you watch?” 

He could see Geralt’s muddled mind take in his options before the other shook his head. “I-I want to watch,” he replied, and Jaskier nodded with a kind smile. 

“You better not come from the show, my dear,” he whispered before standing to remove his trousers, his eyes half closing at the glorious friction created by his own clothes. 

His dick bobbed free, the tip beaded with white and Jaskier could see when Geralt’s eyes latched onto the sight. “Like what you see?” Jaskier said cheekily and breathlessly, crawling onto the sheets as the other shuffled over to give him some room. 

He grabbed for the lube, his fingers spreading it over his hands and warming it slowly. Jaskier reached between his legs, catching Geralt’s surprised look with his own brown eyes and keeping contact as he swiped a fingertip around his rim. He moaned quietly, the sound tapering off into a quiet hiss as he teased himself open slowly. 

He watched as Geralt’s chest heaved with his breaths, his honey coloured eyes captured by the tight line of Jaskier’s body. The Witcher pressed the first finger in, his eyes widening at the entry but his skin gaining gooseflesh at the sensation. “Talk to me,” he suddenly said, his voice level and steady as he pushed the second finger into himself. 

“You’re doing so well,” Geralt said quietly, inching forward to press his own lips to Jaskier’s in a sweet kiss. “Prepping yourself so good for my cock. You want it?” he asked, his tone controlling and commanding, sending heat to Jaskier’s length suddenly. The Witcher groaned loudly, his fingers hitting the second knuckle as he prepped for the third. 

“F-Feels so good,” Jaskier stammered. “Can’t w-wait to have you i-inside me.” 

“Me too love,” Geralt said quietly, licking the back of Jaskier’s teeth, the taste of himself in Jaskier’s mouth making his member twitch against his stomach. 

“A-Almost ready,” Jaskier said as he pushed the third finger all the way in, crooking them to hit that sweet spot that made his hips jerk and a moan to escape his mouth. 

“You’re so good, so good Jas. Gonna be so tight,” Geralt said with a growl, suddenly inching his hand down to Jaskier’s entrance and drag his fingers out from him, Jaskier whimpering with want as the other took his fingers into his mouth, licking every bit of him from the skin. 

“I’m ready. You’re gonna fuck me so good Geralt gods,” Jaskier said, his tone heavy with need as he dragged Geralt down towards him. “Flip over,” he suddenly said, his own voice almost growling and something within Geralt jolted in excitement at the command in the Witcher’s tone. His back hit the bedsheets, and Jaskier lined himself up. 

“You’re gonna enjoy this, love,” Jaskier said, his pupils blown wide as he gripped himself tightly, his length bobbing against toned abs. He moaned loudly as he sunk against Geralt’s member and the noble pressed the back of his head against the sheets, the tight feel of Jaskier’s hole so good against his dick. 

“So good baby,” he said, “so, so good oh my  _ gods _ .” 

Jaskier practically shouted as Geralt bottomed out, and the noble couldn’t help it as one of his hands suddenly took Jaskier’s length and pumped. The Witcher gasped in surprise smiling down at Geralt. 

“Yes, that’s it love, make me feel good, my gods you’re so  _ big  _ Geralt,” Jaskier gasped. “So big you’re gonna--ah.” He cut himself off as the tip of Geralt’s member hit his sweet spot, his head leaning back as the other moaned in pleasure.

“R-Right t-there that’s it,” Jaskier said breathlessly, inching his hips upwards before bringing them down again slowly, Geralt’s body shaking underneath him. “That’s it, keep going love.” 

“So good Jas,” Geralt said, turning his head and locking gazes with the Witcher. “You’re so tight around me, gonna fuck you so good you won’t walk for a week,” he said, suddenly speeding up his hips. 

“Yes, yes t-that’s it. Fuck me Geralt, rig- _ ght _ there,” Jaskier cried out, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as they both rode the wave of orgasm that crashed over them. 

Jaskier felt Geralt spill before he did, the warm feeling of the noble filling him up sending him over the edge, white come decorating his stomach and chest as they slowed their speed. 

“So good love,” Jaskier whispered as he pulled off, inching down to lay against the bedsheets. He shook with pleasure, his skin covered in sweat and his heart pounding in his ears. “You're brilliant, darling,” he said, tracing his fingers against Geralt’s cheeks. 

He suddenly wrapped his arms over the other, burrowing his nose in the noble’s collarbone. They laid there together until the sun peeked over the horizon and the two of them made their way down into the kitchen, Yennerfer’s violet eyes locking onto Jaskier’s limp as the Witcher smirked at her slyly, tucking himself under Geralt’s arm.

“Well, I see you two had a good night,” she commented, and Jaskier chuckled at the pink that decorated Geralt’s cheeks. 

“You have the remedy?” Jaskier asked, and he watched as Geralt took the potion in one swallow, realising he didn’t feel a lick of dread in his chest, only comfort and love for the big idiot beside him. 


End file.
